It’s a warm summer English evening and the golden sun is filtering through the trees in the garden. I can hear the bell ringers practicing on the nearby church bells as I write this. I love the sound of the chiming bells but our host is a bit dismissive of their skill level. Philip has gone with our host to the local cricket ground of which he is the curator to watch the end of the local cricket match. How much more English could our experience be?

But I’ll first backtrack to my last post. When we were staying in a Cornish farmhouse bed and breakfast. We woke to the sound of cows mooing and the birds’ chorus. I walked down the field through the dew-drenched grass to the pond at the bottom of the field. And watched some waterbirds going about their business while I did some reflecting and…